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A Quilt.

The winter before.
Red stair case.
Deli Alley.
And on the ice.

Snow.
Cigarettes.
Falling with it.

The books were on loan form a fellow habit.
Maybe the timing is wrong.
Either way.
The story matches the time.

Her bone.
Visible.
Looks to be pounding.

The way she reads is the way she eats.
The way I eat it the way I love.
In a quilt.

Red stair case.
Deli Alley.
And on the ice.
Snow.Cigarettes.

The last long night.
In a quilt.
The way I have cremated you to sugar.

The way I have been covered.
I cast aside for the glittering gold.

Where war lives.
Beautiful small places.
A career.
One hundred and one.
Feet made of clay.
On planet earth.
The kind rocks.
Figment from the grand parks.
Hazy eyes.
Hide beneath manners.
Where war lives.
Lying awake.
Have your bone’s structure.
And your tender feet.
The shape of your separate peace.
Bend so your dress hangs over your head.
Heavens a cloud.
Heaven is enormous.

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